


Letters Home

by Klarge16



Category: Captain America, DC - Fandom, Marvel, Wonder Woman
Genre: Captain America - Freeform, Captain America Prequel, Grant Rogers - Freeform, Grant Rogers meets Diana Prince, Letters Home, Mustard Gas, World War One
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2018-11-19 23:32:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11324007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Klarge16/pseuds/Klarge16
Summary: Grant Rogers is in the allied trenches when Steve Trever and Diana Prince help take the Village of Veld from German Forces.





	1. Chapter 1

Grant Rogers was cold. His feet were wet. He was hungry. He was tired. But none of those things were new. Rogers had been in the trenches on the Western Front for six months now. God, he missed his Sarah. He missed the child Sarah was carrying. He might even have a son or daughter by now.

“Duck!” An explosion ripped through the trench. The dust settled, and the men went back to what they had been doing. There was nothing that could surprise them about the front now.

Grant glanced around. There wasn’t much going on. He sighed in relief, and settled on a box, pulling out a small, well used pencil and a folded piece of paper. He smiled as he read Sarah’s last letter again.

_Dearest Grant,_

_Everything is going well here in Brooklyn. I’m fairly lonely without you, but the other ladies in the building and I have been having some get togethers. We chat and sew and tell each other how nice it will be once the men are home. A new family moved in a few floors down. She has a nine-month-old son, and has been a great source of information for me about young children. I’ve been praying that you’re home before the baby comes. Grant, stay safe and I’ll see you soon._

_Love,_

_Sarah_

The letter never failed to being a smile to Rogers’ face. When he had time he was going to write Sarah back. He was just, well, just waiting to have something good to tell her. He couldn’t tell her about the trenches, he couldn’t tell her how cold and hungry he was, she didn’t need the stress. Not with the baby.

There was movement going on in the trenches. People were coming down the line. Men were smiling, waving. Rogers strained to see who it was. Shit, he ducked as another explosion wrenched through the air. The noise in the trenches was growing. They had taken in some refugees from a nearby village, but Rogers didn’t know what they were saying, his German wasn’t good. He craned his neck, a woman holding a baby was screaming.

 The group of people, they were Trever’s. Steve Trever came through the trenches every few months on various missions. He was well liked, he was brave, and he had completed more successful missions than any other intelligence officer who came through the trenches. There was a woman with him today, in addition to the three men they were normally with him.

Something was happening. Rogers couldn’t really see. The woman had stopped, she was arguing with Trever. What was going on? “Diana!” Trever was shouting, she was climbing the ladder. No, Roger’s grabbed his gun and stepped toward the woman meaning to grab her, but she was gone, she’d climbed straight out of the trench. What was she thinking? 

Trever was yelling, Roger’s watched, his head barely over the trenchline in disbelief. She was barely dressed, and she was running. Her brilliant red and blue outfit was glimmering in the dim sunlight. Her arms were moving from side to side, what was she doing? Rogers’ eyes widened in disbelief, she was deflecting the bullets. The Germans were starting the throw heavy artillery at her, she pulled a shield from her back, and stood her ground. The men were watching in disbelief, Trever was yelling. “She’s taking all the fire!”

 The message was spreading up and down the trenchline . . . she was taking the fire. Could they? Should they? Their line hadn’t moved in over a year. Trever and his friends were climbing, they were yelling. Trever wasn’t hitting any fire, the German’s were still concentrating on the woman. This was their chance, maybe their only chance, they had to take it! “Come on!” Rogers couldn’t believe it, the words were coming from his own mouth. They were climbing the ladders, they were out of the trench, there was no fire!

 They were in the German trench before the German’s could prepare. They were overrunning them. They were winning! “AHHH,” Rogers was yelling. He was falling into the familiar, horrible, gory pattern of war—aim, shoot, reload, aim shoot, reload.

 And then—silence. The Germans who remained had surrendered. Victory! Victory was theirs—all because of Trever and his woman friend. The Prisoners of War were watched, and the rest were allowed to go into town. Trever and his four friends had taken the town single handedly. There were drinks all around. Roger’s had to find Trever, all of this, victory, celebration, were because of him.

 “Trever!” Rogers had finally spotted him, walking out of the pub, looking across the square at his lady friend.

 “Rogers, how’s it going? Some day huh?”

 “Yeah, yeah, thank you man, gosh who knows how much longer we would have been stuck in that trench without you. Thanks!”

 "Well, it wasn’t me, Rogers. It was Diana.” Trever’s pointing toward the woman sitting on the fountain waiting for him. Rogers nods and approaches her himself.

“Ma’am?” Geez, even he can hear his Brooklyn accent. He shouldn’t be this nervous, but she’s an incredible woman. “Ma’am, I’m sorry, I don’t know your name,” he’s about to go on, but she interrupts him.

“It’s Diana, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr . . .?” Rogers can’t place her accent, it’s not American, German, French, or even British.

 “Rogers, Ma’am. Mr. Rogers. I just wanted to thank you for letting us get out of that trench, giving me something good to write home to my wife about. She’s expecting see, and I, well I don’t like to worry her.”

 “Oh, a baby! Congratulations.”

 “Thank you, Ma’am, have a nice evening now.” Rogers nods, and moves on, looking for a spot inside the pub where he can finally write his letter to Sarah with some good news.

  _My Lovely Sarah,_

_Gosh I miss you. I love getting your letters, please keep writing. I met the most amazing woman today—her name is Diana. She led our troops out of the trenches to free a village from German forces. You wouldn’t believe it, Sarah. Sarah—if our baby is a girl, well, I would be proud to call her Diana. Steve Trever, I think I’ve mentioned him before, he helped us out of the trenches too. Without them, well, the villagers would still be under German control and I’d still be in that awful trench. We’re having some beer and real food tonight! There are talks of peace nearly daily now, I think I could be home in time to meet the baby right away, I sure hope so. I’m glad you’re making friends with the new neighbors, I’m sure you get right lonely in the apartment by yourself. I’ll be home soon, don’t worry about me._

_Yours Forever,_

_Grant_

  

The soldiers were allowed to rotate between guarding the German prisoners, and staying in town to make sure further German troops didn’t attempt to retake the village. Rogers loved his time in town. He was in the pub one day, there wasn’t much else to do, when an explosion went off. No one had heard anything since the Allies I taken the village. He had barely made it out the door of the pub when something slammed into the center of the square, what was that smoke coming out of . . . wait . . . he couldn’t breath, what was happening?

 

Gas. It was gas. Rogers grabbed for his mask, fitted it over his face and drew       breath . . . . he was still choking. He couldn’t breath. He was seeing spots, Sarah . . . . the baby . . .Sarah . . . everything went black.

           


	2. Chapter 2

Sarah Rogers was baking in her small kitchen. She didn't bake very often, she was still working a few shifts a week. She wouldn't be able to much longer, telling her supervisor that she was gaining weight wouldn't suffice forever. She was shocked it had lasted this long to be honest, she was a little over seven months gone. But it wouldn't matter, Grant would be home soon. 

The War had ended, not even a week ago. Oh how they had celebrated. The men would be coming home! She would stay with the baby and Grant would work and they would be a family!

Sarah was singing as she kneaded. An old Irish folksong her mother had used to sing. She was pounding the dough and singing so loud she nearly missed the knock at the door. 

It was probably Winifred. She had said she'd be over later. 

Sarah wiped her hands on her apron and went to the door. Winifred was there, her son on her hip, and a haggard expression on her face. A man in an army uniform with an envelope was with her as well. 

Sarah's eyes widened. She shook her head, unwilling to comprehend why the army would be at her door. The man's eyes took in her bloated stomach, before her seemed to shake himself out of it. "Is this the Rogers' residence, Ma'am?" 

Sarah couldn't say anything, her throat had closed. She opened her mouth, a croaking sound came out. Winifred said something to the man. Sarah's head turned back and forth between the two of them, what had Winnie said? The man shook his head and continued. 

"Ma'am I regret to inform you that Grant William Rogers was Killed in Action on the Western Front on November 9, 1918." 

Sarah was looking into the blue eyes of Winifred's toddler. Grant's eyes had been blue too. 

The man and Winnie both suddenly reached for her, but her knees hit the ground, hard. She moved her arms, she needed to cover her ears, what was that awful sound? 

Stop, stop that noise, Winnie. 

The keening continued. She couldn't breath, the world was closing in around her. She gasped, the keening stopped. It was her, the sound had been coming from her. 

The baby started crying. She needed to get ahold of herself. She tried to stand up, oh dear. She was soaking wet. Sarah dragged her hands over her eyes, wiping her tears from her face before looking up. Winnie was kneeling next to her on the ground. The army man was standing exactly has he had been, but his face was haggard. She was not the first wife he had visited today. 

Winnie was talking. What was she saying? Oh there was that pain again. Her heart, her heart was breaking. 

"Sarah, Sarah!" It was Winnie. How long had she been yelling? 

"What is it Winnie?" 

"You're water, Sarah. It's broken. The baby, your baby is coming." 

No. No he couldn't be coming. It was too early. The baby wouldn't make it, then she'd have no baby and no husband. "No, no he isn't." 

"Ma'am?" It was the Army man. Winifred shot him a scathing look. 

"Go for the doctor, will you? We're going to need him. Go on, quick like." Pulling her son into the apartment, she grabbed the envelope out of the man's hands and slammed the door in his face. "Bed, Sarah. Go on. I'm just going to set Bucky up here." 

Sarah grabbed the envelope Winifred had abandoned on the kitchen table to followed her orders, staggering into the bedroom. 

\--

It had been an awful birth. The baby hadn't come for nearly seventeen hours. The doctor had left and come back twice before he'd agreed to stay. It had been as though the baby had known it wasn't time yet. 

But here he was. Sarah sat in bed, cradling her tiny newborn. And tiny he was. But oh how he had squalled. The doctor said he was so loud that his lungs must be in decent shape, said he'd be back in a few days and had promptly sped off to God knows where. But he was so small. None of the clothes she had ready fit him. Winifred had gone home to make smaller nappies for him. 

But Sarah had her baby. She might have no husband, but she had his baby. Her little Grant. She'd asked Winifred for the envelope twice now. She wouldn't bring it. She said Sarah needed to concentrate on the baby. But Sarah wouldn't here of it. She slipped the baby into the cradle that Winfred had brought up. Grant hadn't had time to make one yet, and they'd kept thinking he'd be back before the baby. 

The envelope was still on the table. She opened it slowly, the ripping was so loud. She stopped, it must have just been her the baby didn't seem to have stirred. There wasn't much inside the envelope. A formal letter from the president, and everything that Grant had had in his pockets. Not much. She smiled at a well creased wedding picture of the two of them. There, a slip of paper folded into a triangle. 

Grant's last letter. 

She closed her eyes for a second, and then carefully unfolded the paper. She stopped, listened for the baby again. He was still sleeping. 

She read the letter. The words started blurring halfway through, and Winifred came back to find her baby giving gasping little cries in the crib and Sarah heaving with great sobs at the table. 

Winifred went to the baby first, and practically shoved him into Sarah's arms. "Sarah, hold this dear child. He's going to need you. He's going to need all the strength you can give him, Sarah." Winifred grasped Sarah's hand as she held the baby close. Her sobs gradually quieted and she shifted into an Irish lullaby her grandmother had sung. 

"Shhhhh. Shhh." She started to feed the baby, he was struggling. Winnie helped. Sarah smiled down at her baby. He was going to make it. She might not have been able to get her husband back to her, but this baby wasn't leaving any time soon. Not if she had anything to say about it. "Shhh, Steve, shhh." 

Winifred caught her words, of course she did, she didn't miss much. "Have you decided what to call him then?" 

Sarah nodded, her eyes never leaving the baby. She finally looked up into Winifred's eyes, "His name is Steve. Steven Grant Rogers." And then she started to sing again.


End file.
